


Leave the Light On

by whatkindofladyareyou



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofladyareyou/pseuds/whatkindofladyareyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set during season three, stiles and isaac sort of find someone unlikely to share the burden with.<br/>it starts off a little slow, cause i'm all about the buildup in pairings, but eventually it will get to the juicy stuff.<br/>as always, thanks for reading :)<br/>it's my first for this pairing, so any feedback is appreciated</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Stiles?"

The flat fingers on Stiles' thighs balled into fists, and he flat a stab of pure fury course through him. No one was supposed to be here. Not now. Not when it was so cold out, and not when no one knew he did this. And that no one was definitely, definitely, not supposed to be Isaac Lahey.

Stiles stood completely upright, positioning himself between Isaac and the headstone. It wasn't much, but it made him feel safer. "What are you doing here?"

Isaac's whole body seemed to cave in at the question. "It's quiet," he said, in a voice that was just that. "I like the quiet."

Stiles kept looking up at Isaac, and he felt that burst of anger, spreading farther than last time, all the way to his toes and the tips of his fingers and everywhere in between. He was supposed to be alone here, and he'd been interrupted because cemeteries where _quiet_!? Isaac finally met his stare. There was no jovial hint of mischief in his eyes, and for the first time it occurred to Stiles that him being here might not be some secret ploy to make him feel childish. Still, he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Why else?"

Isaac's eyes widened in surprise, but he stood a little straighter. "Erica." And there it was. That was why Stiles, who was usually crap at reading people, could tell Isaac hadn't just come here to be alone with his thoughts. He came here because he was hurting, and Stiles could understand that.

He nodded, and Isaac started walking away, hands in his pockets. Stiles fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie, former peace broken, and spoke up.

"Did you- Do you want some company?" If Isaac had been human, he wouldn't have heard, but those werewolf ears must have picked it up, because he stopped. Stiles lunged forward, almost tripping over his own feet as he caught up. 

They didn't speak until they were in front of the tombstone. This was the first time he'd been to visit anyone except his mother. It didn't feel that much different. There was still that ache in the chest, andthe uncomfortable silence that apparently Isaac was into. He hung back while Isaac knelt and pulled a small black tube out of his pocket. "I didn't- I don't know your favorite flowers," he muttered, and then tensed up, shoulders going stiff. "This was her favorite shade of lipstick though," he said, louder, addressing the living now.

His voice sounded so small. This was the most Stiles had ever heard Isaac say at once, and much more than he ever thought the boy capable of feeling. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered Isaac's father. He remembered that Isaac had probably never talked about it, and probably still hurt over it. Again there was that flash of anger. 

Isaac put the lipstick against the bottom of the tombstone. His fingers grazed the top of the freshly unearthed dirt as he drew his hand back, like he knew he was letting go of a piece of Erica he'd been holding onto, and he didn't want to. Stiles pulled his hood on and sat down on the ground next to him. He could feel Isaac looking at him, but he kept staring forward, at Erica's name.

He thought he saw Isaac smile before he stretched out too. Stiles drew his knees up to his chin and crossed his arms over them. _'You make a good Batman'_ , he remembered dully, and wondered if she'd known how useless he'd end up being.

Isaac didn't talk again, but they stayed until it got dark, and walked to Stiles' together. He didn't imagine for a second that Isaac was doing it because he wanted to stretch his legs, but he didn't mention that neither of them would be much threat to the alpha pack if they decided to pay him a home visit. At his front door, Stiles turned around, remembering how Isaac had found him. "Listen, could you-"

"Not a word," Isaac said, looking directly into Stiles' eyes. For a second, Stiles just stood there, looking at him. He'd never seen Isaac hold eye contact like that when he wasn't threatening or smirking at someone. And he still understood. Isaac had been bared today, just like Stiles had been. For the first time, he felt like he was on the same level with a werewolf, and he nodded. 

The corner of Isaac's mouth twitched, almost lifting into a smile, but he turned away before Stiles could see if it would.

\----

"Heeeeey!" Stiles flashed a huge grin and shook his bright red sleeping bag in Ms McCall's face. 

"Stiles, what are you doing?" she asked halfheartedly, stepping aside to let him by.

"Having excitement. Being in a state of excited," he answered, still smiling as Scott came downstairs. It was a lie. He was tired. He'd been up reading about Druids all day, and most of last night, and he'd ingested so much coffee to be able to come over here, that he was visibly shaking. But it blended in well with his usual body movements, so he hoped he could pass it off as nothing.

"Hey, man." Scott walked up to him, freeing his mother. "What's up?"

"Movies," he offered, sticking his hand out and handing him the three DVDs he'd brought. "You still haven't seen Star Wars, and there are two others here if you're not feelin' it." After everything that happened at the motel, Stiles wanted some old fashioned teenage boy activities. His eyes still ached and his limbs were about as useful as pool noodles, but his friend had just tried to kill himself under the influence of some seriously disturbed ghosts. They both needed this.

"So. Basement?"

"Uh... Yeah. Stiles-" But he'd already opened the door and seen what Scott must have meant to warn him about. Isaac had been spread out on the couch, jumping up at the sound of the door opening. 

Stiles didn't blink an eye. He walked calmly in, greeted Isaac with and easy 'hey, man', and dropped his sleeping bag in the corner. "So have you seen Star Wars?"

Isaac watched him wearily. "No," he muttered.

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Does no one have any standards anymore?" He grabbed a seat in the middle of the couch as Scott closed the door behind him and strolled over to put the movie in.

From then on, things settled into more familiar territory. He and Scott fell into the old routine of joking and teasing each other as easily as wading into a kiddie pool. Despite Stiles' tiredness, he was glad he came tonight. Things had been death and terror almost nonstop, and in the back of his head, a little voice was still reminding him that danger was right outside. But tonight he was with his friends. 

He wasn't sure exactly when Isaac had become a friend. Maybe it had to do with when he slowly stopped blaming him for what he tried to do to Lydia. Especially once he recognized those same feelings in his hopes for the future of the alpha pack. And he knew that murderous impulse that inhabited new werewolves. He knew it firsthand.

So he stopped blaming Isaac. And he started knowing Isaac. Especially after that night a few weeks ago at the cemetery. And now Isaac was his friend, even though he was pretty sure Isaac himself didn't know it yet.

Stiles was with his friends. And they might have been more capable of dealing with mortal danger better than him, but there was no one that did this part like Stiles. There was no one that was more there for the people he loved, or more giving. There was nothing that could push away the darkness for a little while like Stiles' easy jokes and careless sarcasm. Even if doing that left him jittery and aching and exhausted.

Scott nodded off first. He had always been a lightweight. He said as much to Isaac, making him chuckle. From the floor, Scott let out a little werewolf snore.

"Well what'd you think?"

"I liked it." He didn't doubt it. Where Scott had constantly made little jokes and asked too many questions, Isaac just watched intently, smiling in all the right places. Stiles knew that for a fact. Once he realized Scott wasn't that into it, he diverted his attention to Isaac. To his surprise, he found a willing audience.

"I'm glad someone did. You think we should call it a night?"

Isaac looked at him for a long time, enough to make Stiles slightly very uncomfortable, before he answered. "Probably. You must be tired."

"What are you talking about?"

Isaac smirked, sitting up on the couch and stretching his hands over his head. "You're a great friend, Stiles, but you're not a very good liar. How much sleep have you actually gotten in the last 72 hours?"

"Enough," Stiles said, wishing the light from the TV gave off light a little more suitable to watching the play of toned muscle in Isaac's chest as he stretched.

Isaac scoffed, rising to his feet and putting a pillow in his place. "Sure. Up. You're on my bed." They both settled into their sleeping corners, and Isaac hit the power button, plunging the room into darkness.

Stiles lay there staring at the ceiling. The caffeine was starting to wear off a little, enough to make him drowsy, but he was still restless.

"How did you know?" he asked the dark. For a while he thought Isaac had fallen asleep, but eventually he piped up.

"You look like I used to."

A knot formed in Stiles' throat. That would be the last time they spoke that night, and for a few days afterwards, but Stiles stayed up long after Isaac's breathing evened out, wishing he could pull him into a Stilinski hug.


	2. Chapter 2

"STILINSKI!"

Stiles winced. He could hear Coach Finstock clear as a bell, even over the cheering crowd and the buzzer announcing halftime. He took off his helmet and jogged over, steeling himself for another assault on whatever he'd messed up.

"Stilinski! What the ever living hell were you doing out there!?!?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. The team was up by ten, in no small part thanks to him. Everything was going good. He wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact he happened to be doing a lot of stuff right, and he didn't appreciate being yelled at for it. Instead of arguing, Stiles drew some inspiration from a certain Mr Lahey, and pulled out his best smirk. "I was winning, Coach."

"You were-" Finstock's face went from furious to ecstatic in 0.2 seconds. He grabbed the sides of Stiles' face and held him in place. "You're goddamn right you were winning! Listen, kid I don't know what you're on but don't you care stop!" Stiles nodded, as much as he could with Coach's fingers digging into his cheeks. 

The rest of the team came over as he let go, leaving Stiles to do weird jaw exercises to make sure his face was still mobile. He barely heard the instructions for the next play over the cheering echoing in his head. All the passive aggressive practicing he'd done had paid off, and in a big way. 

"Hey. Good job out there." 

Stiles turned around to find Danny smiling at him. He grinned back as Isaac popped up behind Danny's shoulder.

"Yeah, who knew sitting on the bench was a good workout?"

"Just gave me more time to hone my skills, man." Stiles flexed his muscles and wiggled his eyebrows, striking an Adonis pose. 

They won by an embarrassing amount. Stiles thought his eardrums might pop from the way the crowd erupted. And then there was the locker room, and everyone patting him on the back and congratulating him. It hadn't been just him, of course, but it seemed everyone had noticed how much he'd improved. Enough to actually contribute to the team effort, in a way that actually helped the team he was on.

"So what was it?" 

Stiles raised his head to find Isaac leaning against the lockers, shirtless, and in his lacrosse pants. The locker room had apparently emptied out while Stiles sat on the bench in shock, quietly cataloging the whole night. And now Isaac was standing in front of him half naked, with his really broad shoulders and too blue eyes and jawline that could cut glass.

"Huh?"

"Yoga? Pilates? Oh I know. The Kama Sutra exercise DVD's." Isaac threw him a smirk that Stiles couldn't have ever hoped to match, not on his best day.

His brain was still working at a thousand miles a minute, and none of those miles were focused on keeping track of this conversation, but he did manage to find something to spit out. "You'd be surprised how motivating sheer terror is." He'd meant the remark as a little bit of dark humor, but Isaac's face fell, and suddenly he wanted the smirk back. Even if it did make him feel like he was standing naked in front of full classroom. "Besides. Couldn't let you guys have all the dangerous fun. Had to step up to the plate." He hoped his smile didn't look too pitiful.

Isaac scoffed, but his expression lightened considerably. "Well it worked. Congratulations." He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed of the lockers.

By the time Stiles had shaken his head clear and made it into the showers, Isaac was already halfway done, running shampoo through his hair, long fingers slowly working it into a lather. Stiles' tongue instinctively darted out over his lips, but then he remembered locker room protocol, and averted his gaze. He could stop himself from looking, but thinking was another matter altogether. He stood under the spray and thought about what it might feel like to tangle his fingers in those curls that weren't really curly at the moment and pull Isaac's head back to expose his neck, then start kissing a line down between his shoulder blades until there was nothing left to do but kneel, turn him around, and-

He peeked, keeping his head down, and found Isaac in the same position he'd just been imagining, head tilted back and eyes closed as he rinsed the soap out of his hair. Stiles forced himself to turn away again, breathing a little heavily for the experience. It was then that his dick decided to pipe up. Fortunately, he was standing under almost scalding hot water, because otherwise it would have been way too obvious that he was blushing as he pleaded with his body to calm down. He promised internet porn and lotions and everything, if it would please just...

"See you next week," Isaac called out.

"Huh? Oh- Yeah. Y-Yeah, dude, next week!" He winced at how high his voice sounded and started absentmindedly rubbing soap into his skin, until he heard thhe sound of the locker room door closing. When it finally came, he sighed and leaned his forehead against the tiles in front of him.

Stiles had never been all too concerned about his sexuality. For a long time, if someone had asked, he'd have said he was straight. Whatever orientation involved Lydia Martin, that's where he signed up. But lately, he'd found himself thinking about boys just as much as he did girls. It wasn't a big realization or anything. It just was, and he'd accepted it just as easily as he did new homework assignments.

Right now, something told him that having a crush on Isaac wouldn't be as easy to accept. For one thing, when Stiles crushed, he crushed hard. And as removed as he'd been from Lydia's world before, he was even more removed from Isaac's. That world had werewolves and kanimas and hunters, and he didn't have the lifelong friendship bonds to keep him in it this time.


	3. Chapter 3

"So I don't know, maybe... Maybe if I can figure out how to really become an Alpha, we could use that...You know, like... Fight 'em somehow. Deaton said it was a pure Alpha, maybe that means stronger...?"

Stiles chewed furiously on his hoodie string for a few moments before pushing it out of his mouth and piping up. "Or it could mean the four other Alphas go after you and Derek both. And get you to kill your own pack. Which, by the way, includes me. And i would prefer to not be dead."

The room went silent again. Scott sat back down with a heavy sigh. Stiles ran his fingers down the length of the hoodie string and popped the end back into his mouth. 

_How does a human being use that much tongue to chew up and spit out a piece of cloth wrapped in plastic?_ Isaac cocked his head to the side. For the last fifteen minutes, he'd been completely preoccupied with watching Stiles. Or more specifically, Stiles' mouth. He'd been chewing on something since the second he came over. Pencaps, his nails, highlighters... Every time his jaw moved to clamp down on something, Isaac's dick gave a little twitch in response. 

And the worst part was he didn't know he was doing it. Like the hoodie thing. He could have just spit it out like a regular person, but Stiles had to push it out of his mouth with his tongue. Not only that, first he had to lose the thing against his cheek, scoop it out again, and then push it out. This was supposed to be a serious brainstorm, and Isaac couldn't focus on anything but the way Stiles' mouth moved when he spoke, and how badly he wanted to taste it.

"Isaac?" Stiles' eyes flew to his as he turned toward Scott, cursing at himself for almost being caught. 

"Yeah?" he asked, crossing his legs.

"What do you think?"

 _He's staring at me, isn't he?_ Isaac was more than good at doing the staring. He wasn't quite as comfortable when it was being done to him.

"Uh...I think..." ...Something about Scott being an Alpha... Fuck. He had no idea what they had been talking about. _Just focus on the last thing you heard._ "Stiles has a point. Not being dead is good."

"One of my more brilliant ideas," Stiles said.

 _Not being dead is good? Way to fucking go idiot._

"But if you're already becoming one, we can't stop it, can we? Unless you want to kill someone. That outta knock your virtuous character down a few pegs." _Okay. That was better._

Scott sighed again and got up, prompting a groan from Stiles. "Come on, man, no more pacing. You're gonna wear a hole through your floor."

"Bathroom," Scott grunted, smacking his friend in the back of the head.

Stiles leaned back completely in his chair, leaving Isaac with a spectacular view of...well, everything. He was wearing one of his stupid flannel shirts, but it fell back in the stretching. His t-shirt wasn't exactly tight, but it fit him well, enough to give anyone who was curiously looking a pretty good guess at his form. And that guess was far from disappointing.

"We should kill them all." Isaac's voice came out in a low rumble, but he had to say something to get the conversation going again. He didn't trust in his ability to not pounce on Stiles.

"Yeah?" He straightened up again, fingers quickly ruffling through his hair. "And how do you propose we do that, genius?"

"Wolfsbane? We could fill 'em full of bullets, and when they're too weak to move, we tear 'em apart." 

"No." They both turned to look at Scott as he came back in the room. "No killing, there has to be another way.

"Scott-"

"No." Stiles clenched his jaw and leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest. "We can't be like them. We have to be better."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll feel so much better six feet under."

Scott bristled at that, but regained his composure, even though his face remained downcast. "There has to be another way."

"It's just as well. Probably couldn't kill them anyway." Stiles sighed and picked up his chewed up pen again, sticking it back in his mouth.

\----

 _It's endearing_ , Isaac thought to himself as he watched Stiles lunge across the table to grab a newspaper lying on the other end of it. He caught himself smiling yet again, and quickly bowed his head over the algebra homework sitting in front of him. But it _was_ endearing. He liked the way Stiles sprawled over furniture and the way his whole body seemed to move both simultaneously and independently of its individual parts.

And he especially liked how focused he was. Not that he could look at one thing for longer than a few minutes, but he was intent on finding whatever he was looking for. His brows were furrowed as he thumbed through stacks of papers and typed way too fast. Isaac really wanted to go over there and try to figure out how much kissing it would take to distract him. But Stiles didn't think about him like that and besides, they were in public.

Ten minutes later, he still hadn't made any real progress on the homework, so he packed up and walked over. 

"What's all this?"

Stiles looked up with a quick jerk of his upper extremities, his eyes shining in the late afternoon light. "Research," he muttered, and waved vaguely in the direction of the table.

"Yeah?" Isaac pulled out the chair across from him and plopped down. "Anything useful?"

His eyebrows shot up, but otherwise he made no indication of discomfort at the company. "Depends on your definition of useful. If it has to do with anything that could possibly help us, then no. But if you mean did it help give me a massive headache, then yeah. Completely useful."

"I guess werewolves perfected the art of staying hidden over the years."

He scoffed. "Yeah, right. Werewolves mostly perfected killing entire villages. Superstition and the hunters helped everything hidden. And the Druids..." He sat back in his chair, running a hand over his tired features. 

A low whine escaped Isaac's throat. "Nothing?" he asked, hoping to cover up the noise with actual words. But the need to work the tension out of Stiles' body didn't disappear as easily.

"Too much," Stiles answered, sounding as worn out as he looked. "And very little of it informative. It's all about compacts with nature and community and nothing about the dark side."

"Hmm."

"Plus, I have no idea how much of this stuff is actually true and how much is speculation." Isaac watched as he halfheartedly picked up a newspaper and promptly threw it down again.

"I could help... Read some of the stupid things maybe, or see if any of the stuff feels particularly werewolf-y?" _Maybe kiss you until you forget about research, or push you down on the table... You know, anything to help..._

"Nah, I was gonna call it a night anyway. It's getting dark. Maybe go get some burgers or something... You want to come with?"

The invitation sounded so casual, like that was just a thing they did, that Isaac had to stop himself from asking if he was joking. Or making some stupid remark about it being a date. 

"Yeah... If you don't mind."

Stiles stood up and started gathering his things. "Just a few things. If you get any dirt in my car or make it messy in any way, you're cleaning it. Inside and out. And no one messes with the radio. Got it?"

"I will try my very hardest to restrain myself."

It was dark outside when they stepped out of the library. As much as Isaac had been enjoying the way the sun made Stiles' eyes look, he found that he liked Stiles at night just as much, if not more. His eyes were almost completely black and the light from the streetlights flickered delicately across his skin. It made him look dangerous. And desirable, and he probably had no idea.

 _I wonder what you'd look like under a full moon_ , Isaac thought, letting himself indulge in daydreams about Stiles coming on a run with him.

Stiles talked nonstop as they ate, about everything. Some little pieces of research he thought were real, and his favorite video games, and about how he wished Beacon Hills had something like Comic Con. Isaac responded once in a while, but mostly he found himself listening. They shared more interests than he'd been aware of. And Stiles was so passionate about all of them that before long Isaac found himself grinning again. Only this time it was better, since he wasn't creepily starting at him.

They drove in silence for a while on the way to Scott's house, until Isaac heard a song he liked come on the radio. "Hey, Stiles?"

"Mmm?"

"That no touching rule... Does it apply to turning up the volume?" He inclined his head toward the radio as Stiles glanced over at him.

"Normally, yeah. Go ahead."

He hesitated for a second, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean, but decided to forget it. He turned the knob and leaned his head against the window, mind blissfully empty. Before long, Stiles was drumming on on the steering wheel, and then, halfway through the song, singing. That snapped Isaac out of his tranquility. He turned to look at Stiles, but he didn't seem to notice Isaac was even in the car.

Unable to stop himself, he let a soft laugh pass his lips.

"What?" Stiles reeled, pulling into Scott's neighborhood.

"You know you were singing, right?"

"Oh." He seemed to sink into himself. "Yeah, sorry."

"You know it was cute, right?"

Stiles glanced over at him, eyes widening for a second before he shrugged. "Yep. That's me. Cute, underwhelming Stiles." He pulled onto Scott's street.

"That's not how I meant it," Isaac muttered. Especially not underwhelming.

"Wh-" Stiles pulled into Scott's driveway and cut the engine. "What- How uh... How did you mean it?"

Isaac looked down at his seat belt, unbuckling it particularly slowly. He smirked and stepped out of the car, turning back as soon as the door closed behind him. "See you tomorrow, Stiles." He shot him another smile, and sure enough, Stiles' mouth fell open in surprise. Isaac turned away before he could see him biting his lip.


End file.
